


Ghost Writing

by hiddencait



Category: An Inquiry into Love and Death - Simone St. James
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, mention of additional series characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/pseuds/hiddencait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A letter from a university scholar to her Inspector.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Writing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seren_ccd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seren_ccd/gifts).



> I absolutely loved this book (and actually all of this author's works) so I couldn't resist writing for it since it was requested. I hope seren_ccd enjoys it - I couldn't resist the epistolary format. Hopefully the one-sided banter hits your buttons!
> 
> (Also, Jillian's landlady was never addressed by name in the book, so I just made a name up. *shrug*)
> 
> Thanks to [name redacted] for the beta. Grammarly.com also lended a hand in polishing the final draft!

My dearest Drew,

            Let me begin by saying, with all possible fondness for you, that you are a complete and utter menace. Did I not remind you that my landlady, Mrs. Grady, often reads her boarders’ letters? It was quite bad enough being caught in a compromising position, though at admittedly one not near as compromising as it could have been. Still, if you persist in sending letters that will make the girls blush, I will have to take drastic measures and will not write you for a month. A month, I tell you!

            I know, that is hardly a bluff you would fall for. As if I could go a month without writing you. I’d have to scribe away in a journal somewhere as if in a letter, if only to convince myself I’ve written you as I mean to.

You are an insufferable man, I hope you know. Truly unbearable. Honestly Drew, if you risk Oxford for me or manage to convince Mrs. Grady to no longer allow me to board here, I will be decidedly cross. I know you are impatient, but I will graduate soon enough. It’s hardly as if you have nothing taking up your time with your work in the Yard, Inspector. I just simply would like the opportunity to complete my work here, as well. And I cannot do that if I am tossed out on my ear and scrambling to find another flat in time to continue my studies.

Just remember that the next time you decide to pen something quite so lurid, please my love?

            But enough of that – you can hardly doubt that I miss you. I suppose I should think of something else instead.

            My studies are progressing admirably, I think, not that you were worried, of course. My parents were. They seemed to think the shock of the recent events and the reality of my “uncle’s” identity would have struck me dumb and blind at the sight of any change or upheaval. I fear they know me far less well than I thought. Sometimes I wonder if I knew myself terribly well, though either. I do feel I’ve changed, for the better to be sure. But still, it is change. That isn’t always a comfortable sensation.

            It’s caused some of the young ladies here to change their opinion of me. They’ve begun almost tiptoeing around me as if I might go off in hysterics or hallucinations. And that’s even without knowing what really happened in Rothewell. It seems laughable to me.

            In their defense, most are as gently reared as my parents expect me to be. The thought of ghosts and ghouls could hardly be comfortable for them. Caroline is the only one I've told even a fraction of the events to. She, not surprisingly, is more fascinated than disturbed. I may someday tell her the whole of it after all. I think she's a friend who will not turn away from me for the things I've seen and done. 

            And still do, of course.

            Oh, that reminds me! I met someone interesting on Monday at the recent paranormalist meeting. There was the usual hodgepodge of attendees. Some clearly drawn by the thought of the fantastical, there more to gossip and ogle at the strangeness and the “exotic” than to actual discuss paranormal happenings. There were a few who seemed more like me, I suppose. Quiet, rare to speak up, but listening closely whenever someone else was speaking.

            And then there was one last quartet who arrived just as the meeting began, almost later than would have been polite. Had Mrs. Grady been there, she'd likely have scolded them for their poor manners. But, as it turns out, the meeting would have waited for them. One of the pair of men was Alistair Gellis, the renowned ghost hunter and author. Uncle Toby had mentioned Gellis in one of his journals as a research source – do you remember me mentioning him? Needless to say, the discussion took a much more interesting turn than in previous weeks. That pompous “Madame” Grosswatter wasn’t able to get a word in around all the questions tossed at Mr. Gellis. He handled them rather well, I think. He didn’t appear nearly as impatient as say, you, likely would have been.

            One of his companions had your brand of patience, however. A Mr. Matthew Ryder. It was his fiancé I found myself chatting with later. Sarah Piper her name was. Would you believe she was mixed up in that mess in the little village your constable friend mentioned? Not that it would be wise for you to mention to him that I now know the lady in question.

            It was far more complicated and far more sinister of a situation than that constable guessed, by the way. Maddy Clare made Walking John seem almost tame by the end of things. Poor lost soul that she was. Oh, gives me the shivers just to think about Sarah’s tale.

            I suppose I should be grateful that our attackers were merely alive. It took a great deal of blood and death before Maddy went to rest, though it sounds as if those men who died well deserved their fate. I cannot imagine the viciousness of such an attack on a young girl.

            Drew, they raped her and, believing her to be dead, buried her alive. Even as I write it now, I can barely believe the story to be true. How terrible is it that such a crime would be less believable than the ghost story to follow?

            I daresay Maddy Clare was well expected to have gone as mad as she did for the rest of her short life and into death.

            Why is it, do you think, that such violent deaths cause the spirit to linger? I’d think those souls would want a chance at freedom away from the earth where they suffered such pain.

            I suppose I’d make a terribly dull ghost with that opinion, wouldn’t I?

            Forgive me, I didn’t mean to focus this letter on quite so distressing of a topic. I suppose we should be glad Mrs. Grady doesn’t read our outgoing mail quite as religiously. Heaven knows, she’d likely have me committed if she read this one.

            Perhaps your inappropriate flattery and… other discussions might well be preferable to her finding out about my holidays spent ghost hunting. However, let me clarify: that was _not_ an invitation to repeat your vulgarity, Inspector. Remember my threat not to write!

            I suppose I must end on that note – Caroline is calling me down to supper. I’ll need my strength for tonight’s revising.

            I hope you are well, my love. And I hope to see you soon.

            Yours,

            Jillian

 


End file.
